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“I brought you some tea to… Reg?”
Regulus groans, unwilling to lift his head. It aches. His temples throb no matter how much he massages them. He desperately wants relief, but it won’t come for hours. He still has three modules to revise, not including the comprehension test at the end. Sure, he could opt not to do it; it’s self-study, after all. But he wants top marks. He needs them like his lungs need air to breathe.
Who the hell let him decide it was a good decision to go to med school?
“Reg, sweetheart, you can’t study that way.”
“I know,” he mutters, finally raising his head to meet Kingsley’s gaze. There’s concern written in the depths of his brown eyes. “My head hurts. I hate this. It’s a Friday night, your only night off from work, and I’m spending it with textbooks.”
Kingsley leans against the doorframe, a mug of steaming tea in hand. A smile toys at his lips. “But the faster you finish, the sooner we can spend the night doing other things.”
“Are those other things more fun than this?”
“A lot more fun, yeah. We’ve hardly seen each other this week. I’ve got plans.”
At this, Regulus perks up. He sets his elbows on the table covered in open textbooks and loose note paper. His chin rests on his fists, and he looks up at Kingsley from underneath his lashes. “Can you tell me what these plans are?”
“No. You won’t focus if I tell you.”
“Not true!”
With a snort, Kingsley pushes off the doorframe and steps fully into the spare bedroom of their flat. Regulus turned it into a proper study room at the start of term, when he realized he had significantly less time than he’d anticipated between summer and The Big Exams That Will Decide His Fate. Kingsley thinks ‘fate’ is a rather dramatic word to use, but this is a hill Regulus has died on many times. These exams will decide his fate. He’s certain of it.
“Here,” Kingsley says, setting the mug of tea on a coaster that he places on the only square bit of desk not covered in notes. “Drink your tea. It’ll help you focus.”
“I know what else will help me focus.” Regulus leans back in his chair to rake his gaze appreciatively over Kingsley’s form. He’s shirtless, the bastard, and still glistening with sweat from his run. When he crosses his arms, his biceps flex. Regulus groans, “That’s not fair.”
“I’m just standing here.”
“You’re flexing.”
“I am not.”
Regulus points an accusatory finger at Kingsley’s biceps. “You are.” He smirks when Kingsley drops his arms back to his sides in a huff. “Thank you. This view is like a mini reward. It’s motivating me to keep going.”
“Oh?” Kingsley’s brow arches. “Noted.” He takes a step back, then another, his grin widening as he clocks how Regulus follows every step with an eager, hungry gaze. “Finish your tea, love. I’ll be back for the mug in twenty-five minutes when your timer is up.”
“But—”
The door clicks shut, effectively cutting Regulus off.
He slumps in his desk chair, grumbling to himself about the injustice of a hot boyfriend who won’t tell him to stop pursuing academic excellence in favor of slutty behavior. They’ve barely seen each other all week; Regulus falls asleep late because of his studies but wakes early to make it on time to the hospital, and Kingsley is a first-year associate at a law firm that demands more of his time than Regulus ever could.
It figures that the one day they’re both finally free to spend time together, Regulus still has to study or else he’ll fall behind. He already fell behind a few days ago when he knocked out in a pile of notes. Kingsley had to carry him to bed, chuckling softly at the ink smeared across Regulus’ cheek from his pen.
“S’not funny, King,” Regulus had murmured, his eyelids fluttering shut and his face pressed into the curve of Kingsley’s neck. “M’tired.”
“I know, love. You’re working very hard. Here, get some sleep.”
Regulus had wanted to argue, to protest that he’s not a child in need of tucking in, but the moment his head hit the pillow, he was out like a light. He slept through the night until 5:45 a.m., when his alarm blared and the Groundhog Day of it all began again: wake, hospital, home, study, sleep.
Honestly, he just wants a break. A little bit of relief.
Temples aching anew, Regulus squints at the pages of his textbook in an attempt to make sense of it all. The human body is too complicated. There are too many damn medical terms. Whoever thought that Latin was a good idea is in dire need of punishment. With two minutes left on his pomodoro timer, Regulus leans his cheek on his fist and stares unseeing at his textbook. He imagines all of the ways in which the doctors of old who are now ruining his life might be suffering in the depths of Hell.
The mental images of burning men in white cloaks only dissipate when the door opens and Kingsley emerges once more. He showered at some point; Regulus can smell the fresh linen and cedarwood scent of his body wash from across the room. He wears navy-colored joggers slung low on his hips, the sharp V-line and trail of dark hair two devastatingly delicious forms of punishment.
“I hate you,” mutters Regulus, opting to pout in full force. “Can you at least put a shirt on?”
Kingsley stands on the other side of the desk, arms crossed over his broad chest and a smirk curling the corner of his mouth. “Where are you at in your pomodoro rhythm?”
“Why?”
“Just answer me, Reg.”
“I have three more twenty-five-minute sessions with five-minute breaks in between, then I get a thirty-minute break after that. One more of those and—King? What are you doing?”
Kingsley has come around to lean against the edge of the desk beside Regulus. There’s a gleam of mischief in his eyes. Regulus knows that look; heat blooms in his belly as a result. “You work better when there’s a reward, right?”
“Well, yeah. I like having something to…” Regulus trails off when Kingsley takes his arm, long fingers loosely encircling his wrist, and brings his hand to the front of thick, soft joggers. He swallows, throat suddenly bone dry, when he feels the soft length of Kingsley under his palm. He’s pretty sure Kingsley isn’t wearing pants. “This is cruel,” he whimpers, mouth already watering at the thought of Kingsley’s soft cock on his tongue, thickening slowly until the hard length pushes against the back of his throat.
“You’ve got three minutes left,” Kingsley says, nodding to the little timer on Regulus’ desk. “How are you going to use it?”
Regulus slides off his desk chair and onto his knees before Kingsley has even finished the question. Who is Regulus to argue against the reward he’s been gifted? He could; it’s in his nature. But he would much rather do what he’s doing right now.
He yanks the waistband of Kingsley’s joggers down around his thighs, moaning softly at the sight before him. Even when he’s soft, Kingsley has plenty to offer. Before he has the chance to harden under the weight of Regulus’ stare, Regulus leans forward to take Kingsley in his mouth. He tastes like soap, fresh and just washed, and Regulus lets his eyes roll back at the feel of soft velvet on his tongue.
It doesn’t last long.
Kingsley hisses, his hand already fisted in Regulus’ curls. He mutters, “Oh, God, that mouth,” and drops his head back, hips rolling forward as his cock thickens, hardening on Regulus’ tongue. Regulus swallows him to the base, a delighted little noise falling past his lips when the head of Kingsley’s cock pushes against his soft palate, waiting until he relaxes his throat. Above him, Kingsley moans from deep in his chest; with his free hand, he cups the underside of Regulus’ jaw.
He pulls out, then thrusts gently forward, and this groan sends a jolt of electricity down Regulus’ spine. He relaxes his throat a little more, looking up from underneath his lashes to watch Kingsley’s reactions. His hand tightens around Regulus’ jaw, the curve between his thumb and forefinger pushing against the spot where Regulus’ throat bulges with the shape of his cock.
“Holy—”
The timer dings, startling them both.
Regulus expects Kingsley to ignore it. He has to. The lust clouding his eyes is indicative enough that he’s as turned on as Regulus, as desperate for relief after a week of barely even touching.
So it takes him by surprise when Kingsley’s hips move back, when the thick, heavy cock on his tongue is taken from him. Regulus makes a debauched sound of protest, at a complete loss for words as he watches Kingsley tuck himself back in his joggers, wincing slightly but standing his ground.
“What—?”
“Study, Reg. If you’ve made progress, you can have another five minutes.”
“But—”
“Study.”
Kingsley marches out of the room, shutting the door behind him, and Regulus blinks in confusion before hauling himself back into his desk chair. He wrinkles his nose in distaste; there’s a wet spot on the front of his own joggers. He’s hard as a rock and impossibly turned on. He presses the heel of his palm against his cock, but this isn’t the relief he wants. Even though the pressure ebbs the heady desire, it isn’t the same as Kingsley touching him. Claiming him.
The next twenty-five minutes are torture, but Regulus manages to make it through one module out of sheer determination. He will not give Kingsley the satisfaction of finding him with his joggers down around his ankles and his cock out. He’ll be good, and he’ll wait. He’ll finish his modules one by one and earn his rewards with the same smug satisfaction he has when he earns all of his grades.
At the twenty-five-minute mark, Kingsley appears in the doorway. This time, he doesn’t bother to tease or draw their five minutes out. He crosses the room, circles the desk, and frames Regulus’ face with his hands before kissing him full on the mouth. Regulus grins into the kiss, pleased when the wet swipe of a tongue across his bottom lip becomes a deep, desperate thing that they’re both eager to feed.
Regulus yelps when Kingsley hauls him to his feet, then drops him unceremoniously on the edge of the desk. He scrambles to clear his notes out of the way, pushing them into a pile off to the side while Kingsley marks his throat.
“I’ve missed you,” mumbles Kingsley, his tongue tasting the hollow of Regulus’ throat. “You work too much.”
“So do you.”
“I know. I’m sorry. C’mere.” He pulls Regulus into another slow, deep kiss, one hand in Regulus’ curls while the other fists the back of his worn university T-shirt. “But you’re doing so good, love. Look at how much you finished these last twenty-five minutes.”
“Less talking, more kissing,” Regulus snaps. He runs his hands over Kingsley’s shortly cropped curls, desperate to grab on to the man looming over him, to pull him as close as possible. Regulus hikes his knees up around Kingsley’s hips, drawing him in until he can feel the hard length of Kingsley’s arousal pressed against his own. “Please,” he whimpers, rutting forward. “King, I—”
Kingsley silences him with a kiss, swallowing the moan that escapes when pleasure rips through him. The skin on his arms pebbles, and he shivers despite the warmth in his blood. He reaches between them, hand slipping easily inside Kingsley’s joggers.
“Let me—Let me touch—Fuck, King, you’re so wet.” Regulus runs his thumb over the leaking slit of Kingsley’s cock, then brings it to his mouth to taste the bit of liquid he’s collected. He moans, all of him boneless and impossibly more desperate than before. He reaches for Kingsley again, aching to be closer, closer, as close as he—
The timer dings.
Regulus swears in a filthy, frustrated string when Kingsley takes a full step away from him, rights his joggers, then points to the pile of notes Regulus shoved aside.
“Study, love. Twenty-five minutes. I’ll be back.”
“Bastard,” Regulus calls after him, every neuron in his body positively fucking buzzing. He drops into his desk chair with an irritated huff. He’s made a mess of his pants and joggers; it’s been too damn long since he last thought of sex. Lately, he’s too busy running memorization techniques again and again in his head. But now that he can taste Kingsley on his tongue—perfectly bitter with a hint of musk—he can’t think about anything else.
Unfortunately, he also can’t risk losing the reward that he so desperately needs.
Twenty-five minutes pass in a blur of medical terms and anatomical diagrams. He scribbles notes, focused on every single word as he nears the end of another module. At some point in the first ten minutes, his dick did him the mercy of softening. He’s still uncomfortably wet and aware of how damp he’s made the fabric of his pants, but he forces himself to forget about it, to focus instead on the information he’s supposed to absorb.
This time, Kingsley all but kicks open the door in his urgency to get to Regulus. The kiss is messy, more tongue and teeth than before, and Regulus scrambles to keep up with what Kingsley wants from him. He’s spent twenty-five minutes focused on medical jargon; in contrast, Kingsley has clearly spent twenty-five minutes thinking about bending him over a desk.
“Fuck, right there,” Regulus moans, eyes squeezed tightly shut and fingers curled around the edge of the desk. Kingsley kneels with his face buried between Regulus’ thighs as he licks and sucks, using fingers and tongue to coax Regulus open. This is something Kingsley would usually take his time with, but the pressure of their last five minutes looms, and Regulus can feel Kingsley’s desperation as acutely as he feels his own.
There isn’t enough time.
“Don’t—Don’t stop. King, don’t—” Regulus cuts himself off with a whine; Kingsley’s tongue has slipped inside him, and the blunt, thick tip of a thumb presses on his rim, forcing it to stretch. “Keep—Keep going and—”
The timer dings.
“Fucking fuck, no!” Regulus cries out when Kingsley immediately stands. He presses a hand between Regulus’ shoulder blades to hold him down on the desk. Their chests heave with the effort it takes to breathe; neither one of them has a whole lot of self-control left. “Don’t you dare—”
Kingsley’s voice is a wrecked thing when he croaks, “Twenty-five minutes, then you’ve got a thirty-minute break.”
“You’ve never fucked me in under thirty minutes.” Regulus wriggles against the desk, but Kingsley’s hand on his back holds him firmly in place. “Come on. I’ll study so good after you—Kingsley!”
The door shuts, as good as a proper no, and Regulus bangs his forehead against the desk. His skin is a sweat-slicked, damp mess; paper clings to him when he finally works up the energy to straighten. Spit drips down his thighs, but he doesn’t reach for the box of tissues on his desk. The evidence that Kingsley was here, that he had Regulus spread open for him like a full course meal, is too good to get rid of.
By some miracle, Regulus manages to muscle through the rest of his modules. He can hear Kingsley in the living room. He doesn’t make any unnecessary noise, but just the sound of him moving around is enough to drive Regulus mad. Come back, he thinks, scribbling notes in the margins of his textbook. Come back and fuck me properly, damn it.
At the end of the twenty-five minutes, he gets his wish.
Kingsley opens the door with less gusto than before. He lingers on the threshold, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. “Did you finish your modules?”
Regulus nods vigorously.
“So all you have left is the test at the end?”
Another nod.
“Which means you have thirty minutes of free time where you can do anything you want?”
“Please.”
Kingsley crosses the room in long, quick strides. He pulls Regulus to his feet, kissing him deeply with a hand curved to the shape of his skull and another laid gently on his cheek. It’s reverent, this kiss, and less desperate than the ones that came before it.
“I’m so proud of you,” murmurs Kingsley, his voice sweet as honey. It trickles down Regulus’ spine; he shivers, preening from the praise. “You finished just like you said you would, and you did so well.”
“Keep talking.”
“Come here.” Kingsley shifts their position, then drops down into Regulus’ desk chair. He pulls a bottle of lube from his pocket before pushing his joggers down around his thighs. His cock hits his stomach, leaking clear liquid all over the dark stretch of taut skin.
Regulus shimmies out of his own pants and joggers, kicking them off to the side. He climbs into Kingsley’s lap, arms looped around his neck and knees bracketing his hips. He sighs, content and warm, when his cock brushes against Kingsley’s. “Can you—?”
“Anything. I’m yours. What do you want?”
“Everything.”
Kingsley kisses him, taking both their cocks in hand to work them in long, steady strokes. The friction is mind numbingly good after so long without it, and Regulus crumples forward against Kingsley’s chest. Their sounds echo through the room, too loud for such a small space.
“So fucking smart,” murmurs Kingsley into the underside of Regulus’ throat. He scrambles to slick himself up, then reaches around to press a wet finger against Regulus’ stretched rim. “Bloody brilliant. You’re going to be the best doctor. Those exams have nothing on you, love.”
“There,” Regulus breathes, arching forward when Kingsley’s pushes easily inside him to the last knuckle. He pulls his shirt overhead to provide Kingsley better access to his chest. His cock leaks between them, clear liquid glistening on Kingsley’s stomach. His muscles shift when he adjusts to bring Regulus closer, to kiss him fully as he quickly fingers him open. “Please, King. I can’t—Not anymore. Please.”
Kingsley grins against his lips. “You’ve said please quite a lot today.”
“Don’t you dare start.”
“I’m just saying,” Kingsley says airily, adjusting their position once more to bring the head of his cock to Regulus’ slicked entrance, “that I kind of like to hear you beg a little. You don’t do it near enough.”
“Because I—Oh.” Regulus clings to Kingsley’s shoulders, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. His nails dig into taut muscles. He’s going to break skin. “That—Fuck.”
“Easy, sweetheart,” Kingsley says, gripping Regulus’ waist to keep him from impaling himself. “There’s a lot of me to take and we rushed a bit.”
“I don’t care.”
“I know you don’t, but I don’t want to hurt you.”
Regulus huffs, gritting his teeth against the stretch, but gives in as Kingsley slowly guides him down inch by torturous inch. There’s usually more prep, more time spent working him open to minimize the chance of pain, but they’re both too desperate tonight. It’s better this way, anyhow. The burn reminds Regulus that this is Kingsley stretching him open. That this is Kingsley who’s carving a space for himself inside Regulus’ willing body. And God, he’s missed this man something fierce as of late.
“Fuck,” Regulus breathes when he’s fully seated. He drags his nails down Kingsley’s chest, so full he can feel it in his teeth. “It’s been too long.”
“I know.”
“A week is too much.”
Kingsley’s throat bobs. He nods, jaw clenched with his restraint. “I know, I’m—”
“Fuck me, King. Now.”
“But—”
“Now.”
Kingsley nods, mumbles, “Okay, yeah, fuck, okay,” and loops an arm around Regulus’ waist to keep him close. The chair creaks under their combined weight when Kingsley begins to thrust up into him, arms flexing with the effort to hold him aloft and keep their bodies close.
Every movement is quick and sharp, breaths mixing as their lips graze; kisses, but not quite. Not enough. Regulus claws at Kingsley’s chest, his shoulders, his arms. He needs to be closer, even as Kingsley fills him over and over; inside is as close as he can physically be, but it still doesn’t satisfy the need behind Regulus’ ribs.
“—fucking incredible,” grunts Kingsley, shifting to hoist Regulus up onto the edge of the desk. It shifts the angle, pushes him deeper, and Regulus cries out at the brush of Kingsley’s cock against the spot that sends stars bursting across his eyelids. “So tight, and you’re perfect, love, shit. I’ve missed you so much.”
Regulus reaches up to curl his fingers around the edge of the desk. He uses the leverage to bear down, to roll his hips in time with the intensity of Kingsley’s thrusts, and he’s rewarded with a sharp intake of breath, a stuttering exhale that tapers into a desperate groan. “There?”
“There.”
Kingsley bends over him, two hands on his waist and fingers digging, mouth on his nipples to take the hardened buds between spit-slicked lips. The touch makes Regulus shiver; he arches off the desk to bring himself closer to Kingsley’s mouth. Now that he’s found the exact angle and depth that will bring Regulus to the edge, Kingsley’s rhythm doesn’t stutter for even a second.
“Five minutes left,” he quips, dragging his teeth across Regulus’ collarbone. “Are you going to come for me?”
“Can I?”
He can feel Kingsley’s grin against his overheated skin. “Yes.”
Regulus keeps one hand curved around the edge of the desk for leverage, but he slips the other between their bodies to take himself in hand. Their skin is slick with sweat; his knuckles brush against the taut planes of Kingsley’s stomach. He can feel how the muscles jump with each thrust into him, how the effort to hold this pace, this angle, this depth—it takes so much of Kingsley’s core strength.
“You’re always so beautiful spread out on a desk,” he says, sucking Regulus’ bottom lip between his teeth. He swallows Regulus’ moan, murmuring, “Gorgeous,” as his hands slam down on the desk on either side of Regulus’ head. He gasps, his entire body shuddering when Regulus drags blunt nails across his abdomen. “Touch yourself. Let me—Let me see you.”
And Regulus, ever the exhibitionist, is more than happy to oblige.
He works himself in time with Kingsley’s thrusts, leaning into the pleasure that curls around his spine. It builds and builds, threatening to spill over. He focuses on the slick slide of his own hand, on the drag of Kingsley’s cock against his rim. Kingsley peppers praise into his skin—beautiful and so damn gorgeous and taking me so fucking good. Regulus basks in it, immensely pleased and so bloody warm that he’s fit to burst from it.
His orgasm hits him hard and fast. He digs his ankles into the small of Kingsley’s back, hisses, “Inside,” and bows off the desk when euphoria roars through him. His vision whites, too many neurons firing at once. Distantly, he hears Kingsley grunt, swearing softly under his breath, and within seconds, Kingsley shudders under his hands and spills into him.
The timer dings.
“No,” Regulus groans, drawing out the final vowel in a petulant plea. He falls back on the desk, chest heaving. “Thirty minutes wasn’t enough. Your stamina is wasted on this little time.”
Kingsley blows a soft laugh across Regulus’ throat. “I know, but you really need to study.”
“Not as badly as I need you to—”
“Do not finish that sentence. Not when I’m still inside you and want to go another round.”
Regulus giggles, stretching his arms overhead and wriggling his hips. His giggles turn to full laughter when Kingsley groans pitifully. “I have to study, King. Remember?”
The answering sound is a cross between a groan and a defeated sigh. Kingsley pulls out, stronger than the legs wrapped around his hips in a hopeless attempt to keep him close. The pad of his thumb presses against Regulus’ hole, dipping inside just as a smirk blooms on his lips.
“What?” snaps Regulus, who is all too aware of the wet warmth coating his insides. He knows this game. They’ve played it before. “Why are you smiling like that?”
“Just wondering if you can keep it all in during your test, or if you’re going to make a mess of yourself.”
“Do I get a reward if I don’t drip?”
“Maybe.”
Regulus narrows his eyes, and Kingsley laughs.
“Yes, you’ll get a reward. But only if you also do well on your test.”
“What’s the reward?”
Kingsley bites his bottom lip, one brow arched and a mischievous glint in his eyes. He pulls his joggers back up around his hips, then grabs Regulus’ off of the floor to toss them on the desk. “I’m not going to tell you. Not unless you earn it.”
“I hate you.”
“I love you, too.”
“I mean it.”
“So do I. Now, study.” Kingsley twists his fingers in Regulus’ curls to pull him upright, kissing him slowly but without purpose. This isn’t a kiss that’s meant to go anywhere; they’re perfectly content where they are, wrapped up in one another despite the hectic days that make up their lives.
Regulus sighs, melting into the kiss, but as soon as he starts to wonder if perhaps Kingsley has changed his mind after all, there’s empty air in front of him. He flexes his hands, frustrated. “Seriously?” he mutters, sliding off of the desk to dress quickly. He’s sticky, his stomach coated in drying cum, but the look in Kingsley’s eyes—the promise of a reward if he’s good—keeps him from making a fuss.
“Twenty-five more minutes,” says Kingsley, his hand already on the doorknob and a crooked smile on his lips. “Can you manage?”
“I’m going to get my reward.”
“I know you are.” Kingsley taps the doorframe once, his smile broadening when he says, “You always do.”